No one individual can tell the truth.

The books I read are the ones I knew and loved when I was a young man and to which I return as you do to old friends.

Gough never pretended to perfection or to sainthood - well, hardly ever. Although when he set off the metal detector at airport security, he would blame his aura.

It's always the idle habits you acquire which you will regret.

If there was anything at all in the Book, anything of hope and peace for His blind and bewildered spawn which He had chosen above all others to offer immortality, THOU SHALT NOT KILL must be it.

Life was created in the valleys. It blew up onto the hills on the old terrors, the old lusts, the old despairs. That's why you must walk up the hills so you can ride down.

Surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own.